


Balance

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 22:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14578935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Sometimes Noctis has insecurities too.





	Balance

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “I've seen a million fics where Prom is insecure about being good enough for Noct cause he's a Prince and really cool etc (and don't get me wrong I love it). However I'd love to see a fic from Noct's POV where he can't get over how someone who is so funny, smart, creative and just plain cool has chosen him as their friend and keeps thinking Prompto will realise this one day and stop hanging out with him. + for some hesitation at introducing him to Iggy and Gladio cause he's worried they'll embarrass him and Prompto will think he's a loser and leave ++ for insecurity about Prompto being the only friend who isn't paid to hang out with him” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=9943179#cmt9943179).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Noctis feels like hanging back, liking calling Ignis up and letting his advisor take over like a second, smarter skin, but that thought’s what got him down in the first place, and Prompto always lets Noctis lead. So Noctis is the one to pick the place. He beelines across the paved street of the party district. The sky’s well into black, but there’s so many lit up shops that it’s hard to see the stars. Noctis knows there’s Crownsguards in plain clothes hiding in the alleys.

He picks a relatively quiet looking coffeeshop, and Prompto follows obediently inside. The little bell over the door rings at their entrance—too cheery for their time of night. The woman at the counter is obviously half asleep and doesn’t look up until they’re right in front of her. She doesn’t seem to recognize her prince, but then, Noctis is dressed in the ratty, casual jeans and shirt he pulled out of the thrift shop earlier, while Prompto laughed his ass off. It was worth the musty smell and the worryingly low price tags. His dad will probably have a fit when he gets that particular report. But Noctis is still looking forward to doing it again next weekend—Prompto was too cute, shoving oversized hand-me-downs against Noctis’ chest and cheering him on from outside the changing room. Dressing Prompto up was even more fun.

And seeing Prompto come alive under the neon lights of the arcade afterwards was even better. Noctis rewards him by asking, “What do you want?”

“Large mango frappe, please,” Prompto chirps, eyeing up the sandwich board stapled to the walls. The barista slouches to the left and punches it into the register.

Noctis adds, “And a vanilla frappe.” It ups the total, and before Prompto can finish fishing in his pockets, Noctis has pulled out his wallet. He passes over the card without a second thought.

Prompto tells him, “I can pay,” but Noctis just ignores it. “Hey, I _should_ pay—you kicked my ass back there!”

“I always do,” Noctis mutters. Prompto’s dazzling smile twitches into a frown, but Noctis doesn’t think it’s over that. They tease all the time. Maybe it’s just the way the barista hands his card back. As they wait for their drinks, Noctis considers adding that Prompto bought his shirt. But then again, he bought the jeans. The designer clothes he came in were pointedly left behind for other customers. And he bought the crazy punk-rock outfit Prompto came out in, even though Prompto spluttered and told him not to. 

It’s not that paying for Prompto’s second nature. It’s not even that it makes _sense_ , because he’s got way more money than Prompto does. It’s that Prompto’s a radiant ball of sunshine that could power a dozen solar panels, and Noctis can’t bring much to that equation besides the power of a credit card. 

They wait mostly in silence until the drinks come, except where Prompto starts whistling the chocobo theme. Usually, Noctis has to try not to smile when he does that, because it’s infectious, and because Prompto’s just _too precious_ for words. But this time the song dies out without much effect, and then their frothy treats are placed down on the counter. Prompto chirps his gratitude, and Noctis grunts something noncommittal. 

They head for a booth in the back, or rather, Noctis heads there, and Prompto follows loyally along. They settle down onto the faux-leather seats and set their ice-cold plastic cups onto the square table in the middle. Noctis just sort of stirs his blended concoction with his straw and waits for Prompto to drink too much and get an inevitable brain freeze.

Instead, Prompto sips slowly, then tentatively asks, “Anything on your mind, bud?”

Noctis shrugs—a signal to move on. But Prompto doesn’t take it. He gives Noctis an uncomfortable look and mumbles, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but... you seem kinda... mopier than usual.”

A pit drops into Noctis’ stomach. Prompto couldn’t know, because Noctis is too good at hiding things, but that’s the perfect thing to say to exacerbate the problem. He _knows_ he’s too mopey. He knows he’s shit at showing his emotions and having normal human contact and all that being-a-good-friend bullshit. That knowledge plagues him often, but then he shoves it down, along with everything else, and just goes on being the prince that everyone expects and no one looks too closely at.

But then sometimes he catches Prompto looking, and it’ll all crop up again, like when they tired themselves out from too many dancing arcade games and slumped into a photobooth. Prompto had punched in some filters and told Noctis to really _smile_ and Noctis did manage a little one, even a smirk or two, but nothing like Prompto’s golden aura. And then Prompto teased that Noctis probably saved all his smiles for his _other_ friends, the big dude and the beanpole he won’t let Prompto meet.

So of course Noctis had to say _whatever, you can meet them._ He set a date and everything, even though he kind of doesn’t want to share the one pure, pleasant thing in his life that hasn’t been wholly corrupted by _the castle_.

But that’d be a stupid thing to say, so he just stirs his drink some more and wills Prompto to drop it. Prompto nudges his foot under the table and whines, “Hey, c’mon, tell me. ...This isn’t ‘cause I beat you at that one round of Justice Monsters Five, right? Because you destroyed me at, like, basically everything else.”

Noctis shoots a hard look at Prompto, but it has the opposite effect—instead of Noctis’ scowl scaring Prompto off, Prompto’s hopeful smile melts Noctis down. 

He lets out a ragged sigh, then slowly admits, “I’m just... not sure about introducing you to my retainers yet.” 

Instantly, Prompto’s smile drops. His whole face wilts with his frown, and Noctis rushes to add, “It’s not you.”

There’s a tense, awkward moment before Prompto mumbles, “No, it’s fine.” His gaze drops to his drink, and he pulls it towards himself, sucking slowly away. Noctis didn’t know it was possible to drink a frappe so sadly. It makes him feel like shit. 

He still doesn’t change his tune. Because a little bit of sadness here is probably better than the revelations a meeting could bring. Noctis can’t handle the embarrassment of sitting Prompto down with the only two other people who give a damn about him and explaining that they’re both on his payroll. They didn’t _choose him_ like Prompto did; they were both chosen _for_ him. And they’re both older and engrossed in their jobs. And Ignis is kind of a nerd and Gladiolus is kind of a meathead, and Noctis loves them both, but they’re not exactly highschool _cool_ like Prompto is. 

Prompto’s funny, smart, creative, _so fun_ —pretty much the whole package and then some. And for some inexplicable reason, he hangs out with a mopey royal brat and doesn’t even get paid for it. Maybe if he meets Noctis’ lame, nitpicky entourage, he’ll realize that he _should_ be getting paid to put up with Noctis. 

Noctis takes a half-hearted sip of his drink. It tastes more like water than vanilla—he’s stabbed his straw too low down. Or maybe it’s just that his stomach’s in too many knots to enjoy anything. He tries to remind himself that sooner or later, he’s going to lose Prompto anyway. There’s a reason he’s never had a _real_ friend before. So maybe he should just expose Prompto to that embarrassing reality and get it over with. 

Even with that decision, he doesn’t say anything, because he’s lazy and stubborn. Prompto breaks the silence first, mumbling, “We should probably go home.” Or _Prompto_ should go home. And Noctis should crawl back to one of the many forgotten rooms in his father’s castle. Prompto moves towards the edge of their booth.

Noctis barks, “Sit down,” and Prompto slides right back to where he was. Noctis fiddles with his watch while he mutters, “It’s just... Ignis and Gladio aren’t that cool, okay?”

Prompto snorts, “Like I am?”

“Yeah,” Noctis answers. He hears the sarcasm in Prompto’s voice and utterly ignores it, looking up to pierce Prompto with a determined look. “You’re pretty great.”

A vivid pink spreads quickly across Prompto’s cheeks, eating up his freckles. It takes him a minute to break out into the sort of wide, innocent smile that first caught Noctis’ eye. That openness, that honesty, is part of what Noctis treasures—no hidden motives, no complicated strings like all the things that Noctis is tethered to. Noctis finds himself joking, “Don’t get a big head over that.” Then he stifles an inward wince, because he was trying to just be nice for a change.

Prompto still chuckles. Noctis runs a hand back through his hair and tries to explain, “Look, I just... don’t want it to get too weird, okay? ‘Cause... I mean, I’ll be introducing you to people who are _paid_ to be there...”

“I don’t know,” Prompto hums, tilting his head. “From the sounds of it, making you lunch ever day isn’t part of your advisor’s job, right? And I know you’ve gone jogging with your trainer on his days off. They must like you.”

Noctis shrugs. He knows they _like him_ , but that doesn’t change much. Prompto doesn’t seem to mind. He leans back in his seat, offering, “Well, so long as it’s not _me_ , whatever. I don’t need to meet them.” He blushes a darker shade, eyes flickering away. “I’m cool with it just being the two of us.”

Noctis is blushing too. He’s sure of it. He wishes he wasn’t. Mainly just to cover that, he counters, “No, it’s fine. You can meet them. You just... gotta stick around afterwards, alright?”

That sounds _so needy._ He wants to take it back. Prompto laughs like it’s the biggest joke he’s heard all night, and his hand darts up to his forehead. He salutes and chirps, “Yes, Your Highness.” 

Noctis rolls his eyes. Inside, he feels warm. Prompto probably doesn’t realize that he’s the only one who never seriously addresses or scolds Noctis with that title. Just cutely teases. Noctis knows Prompto’s too genuine to say it just for show. He’s too perfect sometimes.

It makes Noctis blurt, “Hey, you want a cake?”

Prompto grins so wide that it dimples his blue eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. Think of it as a sympathy prize for taking your crushing arcade defeat so well.”

Prompto groans. Noctis gets up to go buy him the treat he very much deserves.


End file.
